


Throw Yourself From Skin to Skin

by turnonmyheels



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-08
Updated: 2011-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:15:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 18,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnonmyheels/pseuds/turnonmyheels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damon screws (with) Mystic Falls, episode by episode. Damon is a vampire. There will be death, rape, torture, sex, bloodplay, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Nostalgia is painful.

Being hit by a car can't kill a vampire, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt like hell. He can't remember the last time he hunted like this, surely not since Prohibition, when cars got faster and heavier, not to mention more prevalent. But being back in Mystic Falls, he can't help himself - symmetry has been a fascination of his lately. One hundred and forty six years ago this road was little more than a footpath through the woods. Damon remembers as clearly as if it were yesterday how he watched, hidden in the shadows, while Katherine staged the scene, nearly identical to the one he's setting tonight. He remembers his breathless anticipation as he waited to watch her hunt and feed. His naive shock at her brutality, how she carelessly discarded the bodies and turned to him, searching for any sign of fear or revulsion. The challenge in her eyes as she dared him to taste the blood on her mouth. The first blood he'd ever tasted that wasn't his, (Stefan's), or hers.

The car hits him and it hurts like a bitch, cars throttling along at 55 are _so_ much more painful than horse hooves and carriages. He's fully healed by the time the man runs to his side. In a blur of movement Damon leaps to his feet, wraps the man in his arms, and sucks him dry. He drops the body in an unconscious imitation of Katherine, then leaps up, landing lightly on a tree branch to wait for the car's other passenger. He's patient, crouching perfectly still until she's nearly back to the spot where they ran over him before he leaps out of the trees, tosses her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and runs her into the woods. Her screams ring in his ears, making his blood pound and his fangs descend.

This? Is going to be fun. He sets her on her feet in a clearing where the light of the full moon is bright enough for her to see him. He turns her around to face him. She screams even louder when she sees his face, eyes red and nearly glowing, veins spreading and arcing out from his eyes. He smiles sweetly at her as she fights him, screaming and pleading with god to save her. Her struggles futile against his careless grip. He delicately cups her chin with his fingers and turns her face to his. He feels bruises bloom hot beneath his fingers on her arm, can smell the blood beneath the surface and squeezes harder. Her voice cracks on her next scream and he's heard enough.

For now.

"Stop screaming and calm down." Her pupils dilate and he has her, helpless to resist him. He'd find it pathetic if he didn't revel in it so much. "What's your name?"

"Brooke."

He releases her chin and his grip on her arm, then twirls a lock of her hair around a finger. "Brooke, pretty name for a pretty girl."

"Thank you."

"Brooke, we're going to play a little game of hide and seek. When I tell you to go, I want you to run as fast as you can and hide, but no screaming okay? Then I'll count to a hundred before I try to find you."

"Okay." He breaks eye contact and lets her slip enough out of his control to ask a question. "What's going to happen when you find me?"

"Pretty, _smart_ girl." He says pleased that she knows there's no escape. He traces her eyebrows, along her cheekbones, and the bow of her mouth with feather light touches. "First, I'm going to rape you." There's a bead of sweat glistening in the moonlight at her hair line. He steps closer, pressing his body against hers and captures the moisture with his tongue. He rolls it along his tongue like a fine wine and smiles in approval. "Then I'm going to eat you. But if you hide really, _really_ well, I promise I'll let you like it."

He waits until the scent of her fear drowns out the rest of his senses then tilts her chin up and kisses her, chaste and gentle, on the cheek. "Go."

She turns and flees. He can hear her crashing through the woods. Feet crunching over leaves, tripping over roots and other objects he knows she can't see in the dark. Her breath is coming in short gasps, little grunts of pain and fear filled whimpers. There's a loud gasp and thump, she's cut herself, he can smell the blood sharp and sweet over the bitter fear. He starts counting. When he gets to 80 he can't hear the sound of her heart or her breath. At 90 he's lost the sound of her feet, 95 the smell of fear lingers where she's been but he can't tell where she is. At 100 all that's left is the sweet siren call of her blood.

He keeps counting. When he reaches 105 he's already caught her beneath him. She doesn't scream -- can't because he already told her to stop -- but her eyes are wide and her pupils are blown with fear. "You did good." He captures her gaze with his. "You're going to love every second of what I do to you aren't you, Brooke?"

"Yes."

"What do you want me to do to you first?" She shivers beneath him. "Kiss you? Use my fingers and my tongue to work you open and get you ready for my cock? Tease you mercilessly until you can't help but beg me to fuck you?" She's so far under his spell he can already smell her wet and ready for him. "Tell me what you want."

"Whatever you want."

"Good girl. You're so good I'll let you scream, but only when you come."

Much, much later, when there are few places left on her body unmarked by tooth or nail she dies screaming, orgasm wracking her body while she's pierced on teeth and cock. When he's finished, he dresses her and drags her body back to the crash sight. He dumps her on top of the other corpse, artfully arranging their limbs in a lover's embrace.

Damon tucks his hands in his pockets and whistles as he walks toward the boarding house. It's good to be home again.


	2. Chapter 2

He'd come home with one plan: get Katherine out of the tomb by any means necessary. If he snapped some necks, raped some virgins, debauched the town's favorite son, _and_ destroyed the founding families in the meantime? That was merely bonus. Finding his boring, broody, baby brother making cow eyes over a watered-down, pale imitation of Katherine?

Priceless.

A quick thumb through the phone book and an evening in the Mystic Grill, and Damon's able to see all the pieces of the puzzle start slotting into place. Most of the names are the same and - surprise, surprise - so are the occupations. Damon signals for another bourbon and relaxes, letting the people of Mystic Falls unknowingly fill him in on the minutiae of their lives.

Forbes is the Sheriff, with a lovely young daughter that oozes desperation from every perfect curl and insipid smile. Sheriff Junior is nearly as fully tuned in to the room as he is, eyes darting this way and that; she's observing the dynamics, but mostly aching to see if anyone is paying attention to her. He catches Caroline looking at him and raises his bourbon ever so slightly. Her cheeks pink and she preens, gaze flitting around hoping against hope that someone, _anyone_ noticed him noticing her.

Pathetic.

And wonderfully convenient. Compulsion free seduction is the easiest.

She's sitting with one of the Bennett witches, no doubt the youngest of the line that remained in Mystic Falls. Little Emily and Katherine Jr., two peas in a historical pod. Keeping Caroline close, but not close enough to know their secrets. He doesn't need to listen in on the girls' conversation to see that Caroline loves Katherine-lite and the littlest witch almost as much as she hates them. They lie and evade when she wants to know what's going on. Caroline's perfect posture turns rigid and more brittle with each equivocation. The other girls don't notice, giving him yet another wedge to pry the three of them apart. Damon swirls his bourbon, enjoying the tink, tink, tink of the ice against the glass. The witch is scared of her power, he can see it in the hunched line of her shoulders and the curtain of hair she keeps hiding behind. Hears what she doesn't say when she rolls her eyes and calls her Grams crazy. Even with her fear and doubt he knows she won't be as easy as Caroline; witches never are. It's what makes them so much fun.

The girls move the conversation to other, more boring topics. He gives Caroline a slow smile when she chances another glance in his direction. She looks down, then slowly back up at him, then tilts her head ever so slightly toward the door. He loves her brazenness and rewards her with a wink and a nod. He'll have three fingers in her cunt and his fangs in her femoral in under an hour.

The rest of the town's so-called powers are here: the lone remaining Fell is at the bar watching a taped news-cast of himself on the TV; Damon represents the Salvatores; and Stefan's newest love - what's left of the Gilberts. Mayor Lockwood and wife are holding court at the center table, paying little attention to the ball of fury and confusion they call a son.

The son - Tyler - only has eyes for the blond boy playing pool with him. Damon's looking forward to getting his hands on them. He'll take his time, haunting them with dreams of one other; ratcheting up the intensity bit by bit, gradually including himself and maybe Caroline later on. Dreams they'll wake up from panting, hips thrusting desperately into the mattress, come drying even as they can't help but grind into the sticky mess. He'll string them out, fuel their tempers and lust, then when their hormones are boiling over and they're about to come to blows, he'll come between them, then _come_ between them, with them, in them. And maybe, if their blood is as sweet as the anticipation of the hunt, he'll give them Caroline.

Caroline, who's heading out the door. Damon throws back his bourbon, tosses a twenty on the table and follows. It's time to start the hunt.


	3. Chapter 3

He's been invited in, irrevocable entrance into Elena's home (life); there is nothing anyone can do to change that. Stefan can rant and rave, posture and threaten, but as long as he's eating squirrels instead of people, he'll never be strong enough to force Damon out of her life. Even while Stefan is leveling his woefully impotent threats against him, Damon's little crow is pushing open Elena's window and watching over her as she sleeps. Damon tunes out Stefan's words and focuses all of his attention on Elena. She's restless in her sleep; through the crow's perspective he can hear the tiny sounds she's making, see her hands clench and release around the bear she's clutching to her chest.

Curious about what could be troubling Stefan's pretty little princess, he slides inside of her dream. She's in the back seat of a car just before it crashes through a guard rail and flies off of a bridge. The tires squeal, Elena and her mother scream as the car falls, down, down, down. Damon pulls his fog inside the car before it hits water, obscuring her nightmare. The fog buffers the sound, blurring the images, wrapping itself around Elena holding her tight. Her restless movements cease but the whimpers get louder. He needs to be closer to her in order to make this work.

"Whatever, Stefan." Damon throws back the rest of his bourbon and stands. "Have a nice night." He pulls on his coat and runs across town to Elena's; leaping up to the second story window and crawling through. His crow is on the window seat. It pauses in its vigil over Elena long enough to turn to Damon and cock its head to the side. Damon runs a finger along its spine in reward, then crosses the room and sits beside Elena on the bed.

He'd thought she was a cheap replacement for Katherine. How could he not, when she wears Katherine's face? He slips inside her mind, softly and subtly sifting through memories until he finds a happy one. Christmas morning, her parents, brother, and Jenna are there. He brings the memory to the forefront of her subconscious, playing it and other similar memories he comes across until she relaxes into a deep and restful slumber. The little whimpers are gone, and all the tension on her face melts away. Seeing her like this, open and vulnerable, the striking resemblance to Katherine fades into the background.

He'd told Elena that Katherine was complicated, selfish, sexy and seductive. It was true, Katherine had been all of that and more, to him she'd been _everything_. And she'd used it against him with a careless smile and toss of her gorgeous head. She'd held the sum of his existence and all his dreams in the palm of her hand, then traded him for Stefan whenever her mercurial mood saw fit. Elena was ... kind. Generous and sympathetic. Three things Katherine definitely never was.

Elena rolls onto her side, turning her beautiful, familiar face toward him. He can't help but reach out and stroke his fingers down her cheek. He lets his control of her subconscious slip away and eases his body down until he's lying facing her on the bed. She stays comfortably in REM sleep, random images flitting through her mind. Grief is a constant presence, but it no longer overwhelms her psyche. He knows how she feels, has suffered from it for nearly a hundred and fifty years. Soon, he'll have Katherine out of that tomb and his grief will dissolve into the ether, but until then he can console himself with Elena.

As the sun comes up, Elena's dreams become more erotic. The blond boy from the Grill features heavily. Furtive, stolen kisses, sweet and soft as cotton candy. Snatches of games in closets and backseat fumbling. A night spent camping in the woods, rolling off the sleeping bag and nearly into the fire; laughing and hair pulling, teasing comfort that satisfies way down deep in Elena's soul. It doesn't end, just fades away. Elena pulls the bear tight against her chest, tucks her chin into its head and shivers a little as the scene changes. It's day time, she's on her bed laughing and wrestling, coming out on top and smiling down into Stefan's face.

It shouldn't surprise him, but it does; as does the hot surge of jealousy and _anger_ that rushes through him. He sucks in a sharp breath and wrests control of Elena's subconscious once again. He puts himself in Stefan's place. Elena recoils, he can feel her trying to wake up, but he's got her completely under his spell and she's not getting out of his control, not this time. In her dream, he grabs her by the wrists and rolls them so he's on top.

"Ah, ah, ah." He clucks his tongue and presses his body weight against her. "It's my turn, don't you think?" She doesn't fight (can't), goes pliant against him, leaning into his kisses, shivering under his tongue, sighing as he caresses her with feather-light touches. Damon crushes her with tenderness, sliding deep inside, easing her toward climax as slowly as he can. An alarm sounds somewhere in the house, and Damon knows he doesn't have much time. He keeps her under, forcing her to look into his eyes, to know that it's _him_ filling her up and making her writhe with pleasure. He traces the curve of her cheek with the back of his hand as he lets her reach her peak. Damon breathes her scent in deep, committing it to memory before letting himself back out the way he came in.

Elena wakes up with a gasp, feeling the aftershocks still ricocheting through her system.

"Was it good for you?" Damon's voice echoes through her head. She can still feel his touch in the shower, no matter how hard she tries to scrub it off. Can taste him in the back of her throat, even after she's brushed and flossed. It isn't until she slides Stefan's locket on that he fades into the background, but doesn't disappear.


	4. Chapter 4

"Let me get this straight." Caroline said as she tugged the neckline of her dress a bit lower. "You won't let me wear the yellow because it makes me look" -- Caroline pantomimed quote marks as she continued to study her reflection in the mirror -- "Jaundiced. So I'm wearing the blue, which I hate, but whatever, because it makes _you_ happy." Caroline turned on the narrow heel of her sparkliest strappy sandal, set her hands on her hips and glared at Damon. "And you still expect me to wear that thing?" Caroline stomped toward where Damon was lounging on her bed and snatched the offending item out of his hand.

She held the contraption at arm's length and turned it first one way and then another. "What the hell is this anyway? It looks like some kind of mad scientist's sex toy."

"You're not wrong." Damon sat up and retrieved the item out of Caroline's hand. "Come here." Caroline rolled her eyes but did what Damon told her to do. "Pull up your skirt."

"Damon!" Caroline feigned shock and danced out of arm's reach aiming her most coy smile in his direction. "Say please." She laughed as Damon huffed and rolled his eyes, the laugh quickly turned into a pained whine when he grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her to him. He did that thing, where he captured her gaze with his and she couldn't look away. She _hated_ that thing, and yet no matter how hard she tried she could never resist when he did it.

"Pull. Up. Your. Skirt."

God, Damon's eyes were so freaky intense when he did that. It was uber creepy but it still made her crazy horny. Caroline pulled up her skirt.

"Nice wax job." Damon released her wrist and nudged her legs apart. Caroline couldn't help but preen a bit at the compliment even as she futilely attempted to rub the soreness out of her wrist. It was hard to do your own Brazilian, but competent aestheticians that didn't report your grooming activities to your mom the Sheriff were hard to come by in Mystic Falls.

"You're the one who said all these Founder's activities were boring, I'm just trying to add a little spice to the night."

"Mm hmm," Damon said as he nudged her legs farther apart. He ran his fingers over the recently waxed skin and followed them with his tongue. Caroline hissed in surprise and spread her legs even further apart, she gasped a little when Damon placed a quick sucking kiss on her clit. "This _contraption_ " -- Caroline could hear the quote marks -- "is called a Scorpion," Damon said as he took the item out of Caroline's hand and held it up so she could see each part as he explained it. "This part, the mouth goes against your clit. And this bump that looks like the back goes inside your vagina, they say it hits the g-spot." Damon smirked up at Caroline as he teasingly stroked the scorpion's stinger. "This part goes in your ass."

"Of course it does." Caroline said dryly despite the incredulous look on her face. "And what? You expect me to put that thing on and wear it to the party?"

"Consider it my contribution to spicing up the party." Damon held the scorpion tail to Caroline's mouth. "Open up. Suck it and get it wet."

"Gee Damon. You say the most romantic things. A girl could get a big head around you."

Caroline squeaked as Damon's hand shot out faster than she could see and grabbed a fistful of her hair and used it to yank her head backward. "Get it wet or it goes in dry. Your choice."

Caroline glared at Damon but obediently opened her mouth. "Good girl." Damon slid the tail in Caroline's mouth and pushed it forward until it teased the edge of her gag reflex. When he saw her start to struggle he pulled it back out, then slid it in again. "Suck it like you do me." He pushed the tail in again and smiled with satisfaction when Caroline fellated it like a pro. "That's it. Such a pretty cock sucker aren't you Caroline?"

Caroline felt heat spread across her face and knew it would spread down her throat and across her chest in unattractive splotches. Sometimes she really hated her porcelain skin. "Don't get shy on me now; you know you love it." Damon ground the heel of his other palm against her clit and slid two fingers inside her pussy. He worked the pads of his fingertips along that spot that made her knees tremble (why was he the only one other than her who could find it? why was everything in her life so unfair?). "You wouldn't be soaking wet if you didn't." She sniffed and blinked her eyes rapidly, refusing to let the tears she felt stinging her eyes fall.

He was right. She _did_ like it. Evidently she had what Damon called a humiliation kink. Ten minutes on Google proved him not completely wrong even if she refused to admit it. She liked that he knew how to fuck. She liked that he pushed her boundaries. She loved that he knew what he wanted and how to make it feel good to her. The boys she'd been with before just didn't have the skill set that Damon did. It's not like it was their fault, they just didn't have as much experience. And really, there was no boy in Mystic Falls she would ever allow to humiliate her in any fashion. Caroline squeaked as Damon tweaked her clit and made her come. She was still easing down off the precipice when he slid the scorpion's tail in her ass and tightened the straps around her legs that would allow her to wear the toy like a pair of panties.

"Drop your skirt." Caroline dropped the hem of her skirt and turned in a small circle when Damon tilted his head and twirled his finger at her. He pulled her to him again, adjusted the straps of her dress, smoothed the small cardigan that was covering all the bites on her shoulders and back, then he ran both hands along the curve of her hip. "It's not as smooth as it should be. Put on your Spanx." Caroline sucked in a breath but before she could deny she owned figure controlling undergarments Damon had blurred to her lingerie chest, and searched through the drawers until he found them. "The sooner you put them on, the sooner we can go the party."

Caroline tugged the Spanx into place and allowed Damon to inspect her once again. "You're beautiful." He tilted her chin and kissed her so softly and sweetly she knew she'd never refuse him anything. "I didn't show you the best part."

"Hmm?" Caroline's voice was breathy as her eyes fluttered open. Damon was staring at her and smirking. Whatever it was she probably wouldn't like it. Except she totally would.

"Remote control." He slid the device in his pocket and steered her out of her room.

She was wrong, she didn't like it. She hated it.

~*~

Caroline casually took two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and stepped into one of the many secluded alcoves in the Lockwood mansion. She had just touched the rim of the crystal to her lips when the vibrating started. She nearly jumped out of her skin, spilling the entire glass all over her face and the front of her dress. A quick glance around proved no one saw the accident. She was wiping her face with her hands and trying to get to the bathroom without getting caught when the vibrations kicked up into a higher gear. She lost her breath and nearly doubled over when an unexpected orgasm slammed through her.

"Jesus, Caroline." Tyler Lockwood said as he grabbed both champagne flutes away from her. "You need to slow down -- your _mom_ is right over there." Tyler steered her through a closed door into a part of the mansion that was closed to guests and shut the door behind him. "You cannot be this drunk already." He grabbed her by the arm and steered her toward a chair.

As she collapsed onto the chair the vibration stopped. Caroline breathed in a sigh of relief. "I'm not--" The vibration started again very low then gradually increased until it was even faster than before before stopping completely and starting again. She gasped and could feel herself blushing brighter by the second. She tossed her hair and smiled and tried to play it off. "I'm not drunk, just a little ... hot." She fanned herself with one hand and mentally cursed Damon as the vibration changed again. Fast, sharp, staccato bursts that had her moaning as she came again.

"Yeah, right." Tyler squatted down in front of her and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. "Here, your mascara's running."

"No, Tyler, I'm really not drunk. I just tripped over something." Caroline half-heartedly protested as she carefully dabbed under her eyes. It was hard to concentrate on anything other than the vibrations pulsing through her.

"Whatever." Tyler rolled his eyes and stood up.

"She really isn't drunk."

Tyler whirled around at the sound of the voice and came face to face with Damon.

"We've been playing a little game. You know how boring these parties can be."

Caroline peeked around Tyler to look at Damon. His voice sounded like he was doing that eye thing again.

"Yeah, they're boring." Tyler shrugged. "So?"

"So. We wanted to have a little fun. What about you, don't you want to have a little fun?"

Caroline stood and stepped in between Tyler and Damon even though Damon had changed the vibration setting _again_ back to the slow setting, only this time it was pulsing. "Tyler, didn't I see you with Vicki?" Tyler stopped staring at Damon long enough to look at her. "Don't you need to rescue her from your mom or something?"

"Tyler Lockwood, right?" Damon asked.

"What about it?"

"Wouldn't you rather" -- It was too late. Damon was doing that thing and Caroline knew her night was ruined -- "get a blow job from everybody's favorite cheerleader?" She watched helplessly as Damon's pupils contracted and expanded.

"Sure, why not?"

"That's what I thought. Now do what I tell you. Stand there, enjoy yourself, and be quiet. Caroline, on your knees." Damon commanded.

"Damon, there is no way I'm blowing Tyler Lockwood." Caroline protested even as she sank to her knees. "Well, I did blow him back at Elena's fifteenth birthday party during a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, but there is no way--"

"Shut up and suck him or I'm turning your little toy all the way up to high and forcing you to have a conversation with your mother." Damon was standing behind Tyler and unfastening his pants. When the zipper was down he pushed the pants and underwear down to puddle around Tyler's feet. Damon wrapped a hand around Tyler's stiffening dick and stroked it until it was hard. "Suck it Caroline, give me a show. Wrap those pretty lips around Lockwood's prick and show how much you've learned since you were fifteen."

"What about you?" Caroline crawled on her hands and knees until she was in front of Tyler.

"What about me?"

She placed a hand on each of Tyler's thighs and looked up at Damon. "What are you going to do? I know you're not just going to watch."

Damon raised an eyebrow at her and shot her a look that was more than a little scary. Caroline quit asking questions and started to suck. At fifteen, Tyler had been short and skinny, with braces and bad skin. He hadn't been particularly large, and he'd only lasted about 10 seconds before he came without warning in her mouth. Two years had been good to him. The braces had come off, and he'd filled up and out. Everywhere. Evidently his stamina had improved as well, because ten seconds was long past and he wasn't showing signs of coming any time soon. Caroline took him as deep as she could then backed off and wrapped her fist around the base of his cock. Caroline heard Damon whispering to Tyler but couldn't make out what he was saying.

Tyler gasped and pushed forward hard enough he nearly choked her and that was when Caroline realized what Damon was doing. He was fucking Tyler. Caroline's senses went supernova. She could smell that lube Damon used when he fucked her in the ass, hear the nearly subsonic groan Tyler let out as Damon pushed forward. The suckingslurpingswallowing noises she was making made a fascinating counterpoint to the vibrations that pulsed through her when Damon changed the settings again.

She watched Tyler's face as Damon fucked him with hard, fast snaps of the hips. Tyler's eyes were closed and his mouth open. Occasionally he'd lick his lips and flinch but mainly it was like he wasn't even there. That so wasn't fair. No one who was lucky enough to get a blow job from Caroline Fucking Forbes was allowed to drift off somewhere else.

Caroline dug her fingernails into one of Tyler's thighs and scratched until he opened his eyes and looked at her. She met his gaze and arched an eyebrow at him. She tightened her grip on the hand that was holding him at the base of his cock until it had to be painful before letting go and grabbing hold of his other thigh. Then she tilted her head back just a little and did her very best to open her throat. She choked a little every time Damon thrust forward, but she didn't care. She had Tyler's full attention now and she was going to keep it.

Damon set the pace. With every snap of his hips he pushed Tyler forward, deeper and deeper into her throat. When he pulled back Tyler did too, allowing her a brief second to breathe and try to open her throat enough to let Tyler back in. She didn't realize she was crying until she felt Tyler wiping away a tear. Caroline tried to smile around his dick; Damon may have been fucking Tyler in the ass, but he was looking at _her_.

It couldn't have lasted long. Damon never bothered to draw things out unless he had hours in front of him, and Caroline knew he had some big thing planned for the night. "Both of you, come." Damon's voiced sound like five miles of rough gravel; it made her shiver. "I said for you to come." Tyler came without warning (Jesus, not again! It was bad enough two years ago.) and Caroline gagged a little before she managed to swallow. "Caroline." The was more than command in his voice, there was a warning too -- do what he said or else. Caroline came.

By the time her breathing had evened out, Damon was dressed and looked as if nothing had happened. "Put your clothes on, make yourselves presentable."

Caroline struggled to her feet and started tugging at her dress. Her hands were shaky and she was on the verge of yet another orgasm, and really, she'd had enough of all of this already. She knew she'd never be able to look Tyler in the eye ever again, but then again, she had just watched him get fucked in the ass so maybe they were on even ground.

"You saw Caroline spill her drink and loaned her your handkerchief to clean up. The three of us talked and flirted. You think we're both incredibly hot. Then you went back to your date. Nothing else happened in this room tonight."

"Nothing else happened tonight." Tyler repeated.

Damon patted him on the cheek. "Go." Tyler closed the door behind him.

Damon pulled Caroline against him and fluffed her hair back into place. "I'm almost done with you, Caroline. You're going to help me a little bit more and then this'll all be over."

"You're going to kill me tonight, aren't you?"

Damon kissed her. One of those sweet, lingering kisses that only he knew how to give. The kind that made her want to be with him forever. "I promise I'll make it quick enough that it won't hurt." He switched off the Scorpion and put the remote control in Caroline's purse.

"Now you're going to help me find a very special necklace."


	5. Chapter 5

When Damon gets out of this dungeon cell, and he _will_ get out, he's going to paint this goddamned town red.

No more Mr. Nice Guy. Not anymore. No, he's going to feast and kill. Ransack and ruin. He will taste the blood of all the Founding families, rape the sons _and_ the daughters while their parents watch. Then compel the parents to do the same to their own children. Fathers molesting daughters. Mothers their own sons. When he's finished there will be no one left who hasn't felt his wrath.

But first he's got to get out of this fucking cell. Damon tilts his head first one way and then the other, cracking his neck, letting the rough stones of the cell dig into his scalp until he can smell his own blood. When the boardinghouse was built it had seemed like _such_ a good idea to put a few inescapable rooms in the basement.

Live and learn.

Unlive and learn.

What the fuck ever. He gathers his power to him and reaches out to Caroline. The vervain is long gone from both of their systems; he just needs to latch on to the edge of her subconscious long enough to lure her here.

She'll be sucked dry before he's fully out of the cell. His fangs drop at the thought of Caroline's blood, so rich and sweet. There's a scuttling sound in the cell. Damon breathes in the smell of rat and forces himself to catch and drink it down. He needs his strength after all.

First, he's going to get out of this fucking cell. Then he's getting his ring back.

And then? Stefan and every piss ant scrap of humanity he holds dear is going to pay.

Starting with Elena.


	6. Chapter 6

With every beat of her heart, her body _pulsed_. Her arms and legs felt light as feathers, as if any second she would start to float up, up, up until she reached the railing on the second floor where Damon was dancing. God, this shit was fucking awesome. Vicki couldn’t remember ever doing anything that felt like this, nothing came close. Maybe that one time she mixed some oxy and coke on a mirror, but no, not even that, because she felt like absolute shit after. She’s come down from this twice and felt fine. She didn’t even crave more; this blood thing was take it or leave it, and Vicki was going to fucking take all she could get.

She ran her hands through her hair and got lost in the texture of the wavy mass; she danced toward a patch of sunlight and bent over at the waist so she could see the sun stream through her hair and burnish it gold and red. Fingers tickled her spine, grabbed her by the belt loops on her pants, and heaved her backward out of the sun and into the shadows.

“Can I have some more?” She smacked her lips, already anticipating the sweet burn of the blood.

Damon grinned and bit his arm. She reached for it and nearly wept when he held it over his head where she couldn’t reach. “Only if I can have some too.”

“Duh!” Vicki rolled her eyes and held out her arm. “All you can eat. Gimme.”

Damon bit his arm again because the wound had already healed. She grabbed his arm and brought it to her mouth and moaned when the blood hit her tongue. It was sweet like Buttershots but burned like whisky. She could feel it hit her bloodstream the second she tasted it. Vicki didn’t feel Damon’s teeth slide into her skin or the uncomfortable tug of blood leaving her body. Her existence melted away until all that was left was the blood on her tongue, the skin her dull teeth bit into, gnawing the flesh, working the wound back open until the blood was flowing freely.

“No, no, no.” She whined as Damon wrenched his arm out of her grip. “Please, don’t take it away.” She reached for his arm. “Come on, Damon, I want more!”

“Later.” He caught both her wrists in one hand and forced them behind her body. “I want something now.”

“What?” Her heart was pounding, she could hear it inside her own head and it was kind of freaking her out. In the very best way.

“I want to fuck you.” Damon released her hands and stepped back.

Vicki pulled her tank over her head and tossed it on the ground. “So fuck me.”

He moved like lightning. One second they were still half-dressed in the living room and the next they were naked on a bed and he was in her. Fucking her. His thrusts were brutal. She could feel him hitting that wall inside of her and normally she would scream in pain because it _hurt_ but the blood took the pain away, left her high and floating and tingling and throbbing. It made her want more. More. More.

“MORE.” She gasped out between breaths. “Come on. Fuck me harder.”

He flipped her over onto her hands and knees and gave her more. It was more than fucking. It was an attack, wild and animalistic. She could hear noises that sounded weird, inhuman, and suddenly realized they were coming from her. Damon’s fingers dug into her hips and then she could feel him coming inside her. “No, no, no, no.” She shook her head even as she buried her face in the mattress. He pulled out of her and she was empty. Empty and hollow and still pulsing, still throbbing. Aching with the emptiness and desperate to come. “No, please, don’t be finished, don’t be, please, please no.”

“Shut up, Vicki.” She was on her back again and he was hard and inside of her and strumming her clit with one hand and covering her mouth with the other. “It’s not finished until I say it’s finished.”


	7. Chapter 7

Tyler leaned his pool stick against the table after he sank the nine-ball and tried to stretch some of the soreness out of his neck and shoulders. He’s tried piecing together what happened to make him this sore, but it doesn’t make any sense. There was Vicki, then there were the Salvatores, and then he was flying through the air and landing on his shoulder on the hood of his car. Yeah, that didn’t make any sense at all.

The bell over the door at The Grill rang out someone’s entry or exit and Tyler turned to see who it was. He was unsurprised to see it was Stefan’s creepy older brother. Tyler gathered all the balls he’d sank and re-racked. He kept one eye on Salvatore and the other on the cue ball as he played a game of nine-ball against himself.

Salvatore was throwing back something brown like it was going out of style. By the time Tyler sank the last ball Salvatore had a half-empty bottle of Jim Beam by his elbow and was draining a rocks glass. Tyler put the pool cue away and sauntered over to the bar. He slid onto the bar stool beside Damon and nodded at the bartender.

“What the hell was going on with you and Vicki?” Tyler felt his temper bubbling up and turned on the stool so that he was facing Salvatore.

The man set his glass of JB down and turned to face him. He stared at Tyler with his freaky eyes for a minute and said, “Nothing is going on with Vicki. Nothing happened tonight.”

“Huh.” Tyler shook his head and tried to clear it. He felt like something had crawled inside of him and flipped a switch, taking something away from him he needed.

Salvatore picked up his glass and drained it.

“I don’t like you,” Tyler said as he looked straight ahead into the mirror behind the bar and watched Salvatore’s face. His expression didn’t change. He poured another glass full of bourbon and drained it like it was water on a hot day. “I said I don’t like you. And I don’t like your brother either.”

“See how much I don’t care." Salvatore motioned for the bartender to bring another glass. He filled it full of bourbon and slid it across the bar to Tyler. “Drink up. Maybe you’ll like me better when you’re drunk.”

Tyler checked out the room in the mirror, it was as safe as it was going to get in The Grill for him to drink. He drained the glass in four swallows and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The bourbon burned a trail of fire down his throat and into his belly. It didn’t change his opinion of either Salvatore one bit. “No, I still don’t like you.”

Salvatore poured both glasses full again. They drank in unison, Tyler could feel the liquor hitting his system; it made his stiff muscles (why was he so sore?) relax a bit. He carefully pushed the glass out of reach and leaned back in his seat. Salvatore had yet to look at him again and it was pissing him off.

“How about now? Like me better than you did?”

“No.”

“Do you like me better than my brother?”

Tyler thought about that. Stefan was dating Elena and that was fucking with Matt pretty bad. Tyler hated it when people (anyone other than Tyler that is) messed with Matt -- the kid had it rough and needed all the breaks he could get. This guy, on the other hand, had been fucking around with Caroline and it looked like she was pretty messed up over it. Not that Tyler had any strong feelings about Caroline other than she was smoking hot and this guy was pretty hot too now that he thought about it. Which was _weird_ and had a lot to do with why he didn’t like Salvatore. Tyler was not into dudes. At all. So there was no reason why he’d think this guy was hot, which brought him back to _weird_ and he didn’t like it.

“I didn’t think it would be that hard of a question.”

“What?” Tyler turned away from the reflection and looked at the man. “Oh sorry, lost my train of thought.”

“Do you hate Stefan that much?” The guy poured his glass full again, emptying the bottle. He brought the glass to his lips and touched his tongue to the rim before taking a drink. Tyler found himself mesmerized by the flash of tongue and reminded himself yet again: not into dudes.

“I’m sorry, am I distracting you?” The tone of voice raised Tyler’s hackles. His already too short temper was being pushed to the limit. He had to get it under control; no more public tantrums or he was really going to get it. He grabbed onto the edge of the bar to keep from taking a swing. He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. He knew better than to drink that much brown liquor; it always made his temper that much worse.

“I’m Damon by the way.” He held out his hand and Tyler took it. Damon’s hand was smaller than his own, more slender and fine boned. It made Tyler’s fingers itch for his sketch pad and pencil. Hell, everything about Damon made him want to draw. He shook Damon’s hand firmly and couldn’t resist giving an extra hard squeeze at the end.

Damon squeezed back. Hard enough that Tyler had to fight to keep the wince off his face. “Tyler.” Damon released his hand and Tyler rubbed his hand on his thigh until he regained feeling.

Damon motioned the bartender to bring him another bottle. He poured the bourbon over a fresh glass of ice and held the bottle out in Tyler’s direction. Tyler shook his head and waved off the bottle. He’d had more than enough to drink; Damon must have poured him the equivalent of six shots and he realized he hadn’t felt the full effect yet.

They sat in silence. Damon drank steadily and Tyler studied him. He still didn’t like him. There was something ... not right about the man. Something predatory, nearly inhuman in the way he moved and the intensity of his gaze. Tyler dug into the pocket of his letter jacket and came out with a pen. He grabbed a napkin and started a rough outline of Damon’s face.

He paused for a moment and studied Damon’s profile intently. He must have been lost in concentration because he didn’t even see Damon _move_ but he obviously had because he was holding the napkin Tyler had been drawing on in his hand. “If you wanted a model all you had to do was ask.”

Tyler grabbed for the napkin but Damon had already folded it up and put it in his back pocket. “Give it back.”

“Make me.” Damon smirked and raised an eyebrow.

Tyler pushed away from the bar and stood. He drew himself up to his full height and shoved his hands into his coat pockets and clenched his hands into fists. If he got into a fight in public he knew what would be waiting for him at home would make a bar brawl look like a nursery school sand box fight. “Not here.”

Tyler headed for the back exit and waited for Damon to pay and follow him. He paced between the door and the dumpster, gearing up for a fight. He stumbled a bit and realized he was too drunk to fight, but Damon had drank nearly an entire bottle by himself -- there was no way he could be sober enough to kick Tyler’s ass. He figured one punch, maybe two. He’d grab his sketch and be home before Damon knew what happened. He reached the dumpster again. Tyler kicked it for being in his way and turned and walked smack into Damon. Damon was a freaking immovable object and Tyler stumbled back a little. “Did you want something from me?”

Tyler tried to stand his ground. He planted both feet, but Damon just kept moving forward. Tyler thought Damon would stop before they were touching but he didn’t. Their chests were pressed together and Damon kept walking. Tyler pushed against him but Damon for all his smaller stature was pushing him, back, back, back until Tyler was flush against the dumpster and Damon was pressed against him. Chest, abs, hips, knees. Even their damn shoes were touching.

Damon grabbed Tyler by the chin and forced him to meet his gaze. “I asked you if you wanted something.”

Tyler placed both hands on Damon’s chest and _shoved_ as hard as he could. The guy was a fucking brick wall. He didn’t even budge. Tyler’s pulse picked up when he realized he was completely stuck. He lifted his chin and tried to shove Damon back again. “Give me back my drawing.”

“Are you sure that’s what you really want?” Damon ground his pelvis against Tyler’s and Tyler jerked his head back, slamming it against the cold metal of the dumpster. “Cause it feels like ” -- Damon reached between them and fondled the erection Tyler wasn’t even aware he had until Damon touched it -- “you want something else.”

“Dude.” Tyler put everything he had into it, he tried to slam his entire body against Damon’s. He may as well have been glued to the dumpster for all the good it did him. “Get off of me!”

“Huh-uh.” Damon said and crashed his mouth onto Tyler’s. It wasn’t a kiss, Tyler didn’t kiss guys and kisses were supposed to be nice. This was brutal, Damon’s teeth dug into Tyler’s lips until he had to part them or have them bitten off. Damon’s tongue slid into his mouth, and he still didn’t stop biting Tyler. Teeth pierced his lip, he felt blood welling up and Damon _licked_ it and groaned. Tyler kept trying to push Damon off and turn away from the kisses.

He wasn’t getting anywhere but more stuck. Damon worked a leg between Tyler’s thighs and rocked against his crotch. He licked a trail down Tyler’s throat and followed it with his teeth. Scraping along his jugular, biting until Tyler was sure he was going to look like a vampire had attacked him in the morning. Tyler was helpless against the onslaught. Pinned against a garbage dumpster in a dark alley, he felt like a whore. Then Damon pulled Tyler’s jacket and shirt collar to the side and _bit_ his shoulder until Tyler threw his head back and shouted. “What the fuck?”

Damon sucked where he was biting him and shoved a hand into Tyler’s pants. He grabbed Tyler’s prick and stroked until he fucking came in his pants. Tyler closed his eyes and struggled for breath as well as escape. He was still pushing Damon, trying like hell to get him _off_ of him. He felt Damon step away and opened his eyes.

The alley was empty. Tyler’s clothes were perfectly arranged, zipped and buttoned. He touched a hand to his shoulder and there was nothing there. No bite, no blood. If he hadn’t felt come drying inside his boxers he’d think he imagined the whole thing.

Tyler shook his head and made his unsteady way to his car. He’d already sat down in the car and cranked it when he noticed something under the windshield wiper. He debated leaving it there and driving home but decided against it. He leaned against his car as he unfolded the sketch of Damon.

 _Like me better than my brother now?_ was scrawled on the napkin.

Tyler wadded it up and shoved it in his pocket and drove home. He didn’t like the Salvatores.

He fucking hated them.


	8. Chapter 8

“I, of course, will do anything I can to help.”

Liz had a bad feeling about this. She hated involving the younger generation. She preferred to protect their innocence, keep them safe from the true history of the town. Bringing in a new member to replace one who had either died or retired always felt like it was too much too soon. Logan Fell was already working with the Council, she could remember him toddling around in diapers like it was yesterday; she didn’t want to involve anyone else. She shook her head ‘no’ at Damon. They were just kids in her eyes, too close to Caroline’s age. “I can’t ask you to get involved. It’s too dangerous.”

“I’m already involved, Liz.” He pointed to the box of vervain. “Zack said he didn’t know when he was coming back to town. Are you ready to be a man short?”

No, she wasn’t. Realistically they needed every able body they could get – they were already a man down with Gilbert absent. And now Zack leaving town put them at minus two. There had been Salvatores on the Council since the beginning and Damon already knew the truth. He wouldn’t need to be convinced it was true. He wouldn’t balk and tell them they were all insane, or think it was an elaborate practical joke, or any of the other myriad responses she’s seen to the “Hello, there’s more to being a founding family member than balls, parties, parades, and historic costumes” conversations she’d been witness to over the years.

Liz looked down at the small box she was holding on to way too tightly and forced her fingers to relax. She had been out of vervain for six days. She and Zack had had many conversations over the years pondering how long the herb would stay in your system, debated the pros and cons of wearing it verses ingesting it. Liz estimated she had been completely vulnerable to vampires for four days. She repressed a shudder as the idea crept up on her. Vulnerability was something she wouldn’t tolerate for herself (it was a long-standing Forbes family trait along with mule-headed stubbornness and a tendency toward melodrama) and fought tooth and nail to protect and shelter in others.

She stroked a loving finger along the edge of the box of vervain, mentally promising herself a nice stout cup of tea the second Damon left.

“Sheriff Forbes?”

Liz shook herself out of her reverie and smiled as sincerely as she could at Damon. “You’re right, of course; we need all the help we can get.”

“Tell me Liz, what can I do to help?”

Something cold and serpentine slithered through her mind, sliding through her inhibitions, loosening her tongue. “I-I-” She licked her lips and tried to stop the words, why was she trying to say this?

“Liz, you can trust me. You know you can. Tell me anything you want, I’m at your disposal.”

Something unlocked deep inside of her. She could trust Damon, she knew she could. “I’m so tired. And lonely.” Damon was on her side of the desk, kneeling at her feet. “I’m not ready to do this, but I have to protect this town and…and my daughter. She hates me you know.” He took her hands in his and she shivered at the touch. “No one ever touches me. Not like this.” She clutched his hands tightly in her own and then released one to wipe at a tear threatening to fall. “They always called me Lezzie Forbes in school.” A bitter helpless laugh escaped her. “My husband left me because he’s gay. And my daughter hates me for it; she says it’s all my fault.”

Then the tears began falling. She hadn’t cried since he’d left. She’d been building up her shell layer by layer, hardening her heart and thickening her skin. Refusing to let this beat her, but Damon asked her what she needed and she needed _this_. Needed to let it all out so she could concentrate on hunting the vampire that was threatening her town. Then she was weeping, there was no denying it. Liz knew she should be embarrassed and pull away when Damon wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into the tightest (and most awkward) embrace she’d ever felt, but she wasn’t. Relieved and gracious, but not embarrassed. She hugged him back and let it all out.

Later, much later -- when she was all cried out and Damon had produced a silk handkerchief for her to clean herself up with -- she laughed when he said in complete seriousness, “That wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“Me neither.” Damon looked genuinely baffled and that only made her laugh harder. She felt like she was riding an emotional roller coaster and it was so much unlike her she couldn’t help but worry and wonder why of all the people in the world she had opened up to a virtual stranger.

She was glad she had though. Liz had a strong gut feeling about this; Damon was going to be a fantastic friend.


	9. Chapter 9

“I’m going to bring her back.” Damon states it simply and without affectation as if his success in the matter is already a foregone conclusion. He turns and walks away from Stefan; but before he takes more than a few steps he whirls around and speeds to Stefan, closing the distance between them once again.

He points his finger at Stefan and lets out over a century’s worth of frustration. “It shouldn’t have taken you years to work out the compulsion. You should have known the second” -- Damon snaps his fingers right in front of Stefan’s face for emphasis -- “you transitioned. You _did_ know the second you transitioned. It’s taken you years to convince yourself that everything was Katherine’s fault.”

Damon shifts backward slightly onto his heels and starts to circle Stefan. “Everything you did -- everything I did -- it was all for her. To gain her love and her undivided attention.” Damon’s breath is hot on the back of Stefan’s neck; it burns almost as hot as a brand. “There was no compulsion and you know it, brother. You came into my bed and I came into yours and we shared her night after night.” Stefan closes his eyes and bows his head. Reflexively his hands clench into fists. He takes two deep, calming breaths and wills himself not to lash out at Damon. “And then, when she asked us to … we shared each other for her pleasure.”

Stefan cannot, will not have this conversation. He starts to speed away, but Damon’s too fast. He grabs hold of Stefan with both hands, fingers digging cruelly into Stefan’s shoulders. “Look at me.” Damon is plastered against Stefan’s back, the heat of his body seeping into Stefan’s like a long lost friend. “Face me you fucking coward.” Damon hisses the words directly into Stefan’s ear while pulling him inexorably toward himself.

Stefan is unable to resist Damon’s superior strength. He turns around and faces his brother. Stefan searches Damon’s face looking for any hint -- however subtle -- to what Damon wants to hear; but Damon’s usually open expression is utterly inscrutable.

“All of this” -- Damon releases Stefan from his immovable grip to gesture expansively with both hands -- “from Katherine getting locked in the tomb in the first place, to the two of us standing here today is on _you_. The only thing I have _ever_ wanted is Katherine.” Damon pauses for a second and picks a piece of grass off of Stefan’s shoulder. “I was willing to share because I loved you more than anything but her.”

“Things change.” Damon pats Stefan lightly on the cheek. “I still want Katherine. That’s immutable.” The pat turns into a caress and Stefan wants to lean into it. Wants to turn his face into his brother’s hand and kiss his palm and his wrist, take him into his arms and erase all the bad blood between. “Ask me what else I want Stefan.”

It’s a trap but Stefan asks anyway. “What else do you want Damon?”

“For you to get off your sanctimonious high horse and man the fuck up to the truth. The real truth. Not this sanitized bullshit you’ve been brainwashing yourself with for the past 145 years.”

Damon smiles then and it sends shivers down Stefan’s spine. It is the cold, calculating, cruel smile of an unrepentant killer. Not the brother he’d loved and couldn’t imagine facing eternity without. Stefan reaches out and touches the corner of Damon’s mouth. He wants to eradicate everything that has happened between them; turn back the clock and rewrite history. If only they hadn’t transitioned. If he’d refused to let Damon push him away. If he had said then what he still can’t say now, although he wants to. He _wants_ to say ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I love you’ and ‘I miss you.’ Even if Damon ridicules and mocks him he can’t make Stefan’s life any more miserable than it already is. Damon was, is, and always will be his biggest regret.

“I --” The words are stuck in his throat. He can’t give Damon what he wants. All these years later, he still can’t admit that he’d wanted Damon as much as he’d wanted Katherine, that what he’d really wanted was the three of them.

“I’ll make it easy for you.” Damon begins circling Stefan again. “Help me set Katherine free and I’ll take her and go; you will never see us again.”

Stefan wants to. He wants to be able to give or do anything to heal the rift between him and Damon. But he can’t. He can’t bear the weight of the deaths of all the people that will inevitably die if Damon succeeds. He isn’t built that way. Life, all life, mean more to him than his (or Damon’s) happiness. “I can’t.” The words felt like they are torn from his soul. “Freeing Katherine would mean freeing the other vampires and I can’t be a part of that.”

“I’m getting Katherine out of that tomb. If I have to kill you, your precious little girlfriend, and the entire town of Mystic Falls to do it, I will.” Damon grabs Stefan’s head with both hands and pulls him close enough to kiss. Stefan’s lips part of their own volition. He can taste his brother’s hatred on his lips. It is more bitter than vervain and just as deadly. “Brother.”

The crack of his own neck breaking echoes in Stefan’s ears longer than it takes to heal.


	10. Chapter 10

The steering wheel gives a little under Damon’s grip so he forces his hands to relax. He shouldn’t have taken the car in the first place. He’d have been better off running because a) it was faster and b) it would work off some of the impotent _fury_ he has no way to express at whomever staked Logan Fell before Damon could find out the how, what, where, why, and most importantly _who_ turned Logan in the first place.

He racks his brain sorting through every vampire he knows or has heard of. Who besides him even cares that there are twenty-seven vampires beneath that church? Who besides him could have as much at stake? It doesn’t make any sense. The steering column whines a bit under the force of his grip and Damon mentally curses himself again for driving. He loves this car too much to be careless with it. If he’d have run he would have been back at the boarding house, bags packed with a good start on Atlanta but no, he has to play human to keep his cover. It’s all so _frustrating_ and annoying and a pain in his ass.

There’s something up ahead, a car overturned. If the car is overturned the people are most likely dying anyway. A literal free lunch that won’t raise suspicion from either Stefan or the Sheriff; finally, this night is looking up. He punches the accelerator, eager to drain the body before it’s already dead.

Except that it isn’t just any car, it’s Elena’s. Damon hears her screaming and drives _faster_.


	11. Chapter 11

Damon grits his teeth as Elena’s phone rings _again_. He picks it up and checks the screen. _Stefan_. He smirks a bit as he hits the button to send the call straight to voicemail. The ringing stops and the screen reads 87 missed calls. Whatever happened (she had to have seen the picture there’s no other explanation and what Damon wouldn’t give to have been a fly on Stefan’s bedroom wall when that happened) to make Elena leave the boarding house without her necklace (Damon had to roll the windows down 70 miles ago to get the eau de young lover’s musk out of the air) and ask him ‘why do I look like her?’ was going to give him ammunition against Stefan for decades.

The phone makes a different sound, an unopened envelope flashes on the screen. “Trying a new tactic brother? Took you long enough.” Damon murmurs. He glances over at Elena -- she’s out and will be for sometime even with his blood in her system. He opens the text message and suddenly the nearly eight-hour drive (five at the speed he’s currently going) to Atlanta becomes _much_ more interesting.

From Stefan:  
Elena. Please. Let me explain.

“Poor little Stefan.” Damon mutters as his thumb flies over the keys. “This should sting a bit.” Oh yes. This is going to be fun.

From Elena:  
Leave me alone. I hate you

From Stefan:  
I know that you’re upset. You have every right to be. But if you’d just talk to me I could explain.

From Elena:  
DIAF

From Stefan:  
What does that mean?

From Elena:  
Die in a Fire

From Stefan:  
God Elena. I am so sorry I’ve been wanting to tell you but I didn’t know how. How could I eve

From Stefan:  
n begin to explain? Please Elena, please call me I want to talk to you.

From Elena:  
FU

From Stefan:  
What?

From Elena:  
Fuck. You. God. Get with the 21st century already.  


Elena stirs in the passenger seat and Damon slips the phone into his pocket. It beeps again immediately but he doesn’t respond. It’ll be far more fun to let Stefan stew for a while. The miles pass uneventfully; 81 is a beautiful drive in the daylight, but after dark it’s just boring. Nothing but truckers this time of night so the drive is easy and well above the speed limit, but there’s nothing to catch Damon’s attention.

The phone in Damon’s pocket chirps again. Well, there’s _something_ to keep him occupied. Damon smirks and immediately opens the text message.

From Bonnie:  
E? whats up w/ u & S? S called freaking out

From Elena:  
S is a jerk and I h8t him

From Bonnie:  
Did he try to bite you? I will kill him

From Elena:  
don’t want 2 talk about it.

From Bonnie:  
Do u want me 2 come over?

From Elena:  
Only if we can have a pillowfight

From Bonnie:  
rudrunk?

From Elena:  
u no it!!

From Bonnie:  
what about school 2morrow

From Elena:  
F school

From Bonnie:  
E? U sure u don’t want company

From Elena:  
only if we can play doctor

From Bonnie:  
EWW

From Elena:  
;P lol

From Bonnie:  
I’ll call u 2morrow when ur sober

From Elena:  
UR NO FUN  


Elena shifts a bit in the passenger seat -- Damon glances over in time to see a strand of hair fall across her face. Damon reaches across the car and carefully brushes it off of her face and tucks it behind her ear. He knows Elena will be pissed off when she realizes that instead of taking her home or to the hospital after he saved her cute little ass he essentially kidnapped her, but that’s a bridge he’s willing to cross when they’re in Georgia and she’s awake.

The speed limit changes from 65 to 70 as they cross into North Carolina. Damon picks up speed until he’s cruising along at 110, one hand on Elena’s knee and the other on the steering wheel.


	12. Chapter 12

“Now, now you two.” The familiar voice made the hair on the back of Caroline’s neck stand up. “I think it’s time you kissed and made up.” Caroline closed her eyes and prayed for it to be an aural hallucination. “Or made out, or got started, anything but this boring star-crossed, doe-eyed, _Twilight_ puke fest.”

The Grill was nearly empty. If she hadn’t been lingering until closing trying to get Matt to acknowledge that they had something and that they shouldn’t just give up on it before it even started, she wouldn’t be here with Damon breathing down her neck. Literally. What was with his obsessive neck thing anyway? She can’t, _won’t_ be his toy anymore and she’ll do anything at all to keep Matt safe and away from Damon’s sadistic, twisted games. Caroline deliberately stepped out of his reach and grabbed hold of Matt’s arm. “Come on.” She tugged him toward the door. “You don’t want to get mixed up with him. Trust me.”

Matt yanked his arm away from her. “You know what Caroline? You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Every instinct she had was screaming at her in bold flashing letters GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. “Can I get you something?” Matt asked Damon and Caroline felt the ball of fear growing in her belly turn into lead. She may be a neurotic, insecure, crazy mess but she liked Matt too much to leave him alone with Damon. Caroline sucked in a deep breath, pasted on her best smile, and sauntered toward the bar behind Matt and Damon.

“Bourbon neat.” Damon said politely as he slid onto a bar stool. Matt headed behind the bar to pour the drink.

“You’re not old enough to serve.” Caroline knew how ridiculous and petty she sounded but she had to do something.

Matt pulled a bottle of Maker’s Mark down from the shelf and poured Damon a generous serving. “What are you going to do, call your mom?”

Damon held his glass up to Caroline in a mockery of a toast. “Yeah, Caroline, what _are_ you going to do?”

Caroline stepped closer to Damon, close enough to reach out and lay a hand on his leather-clad arm. “Damon. Please, don’t do this.” She moved closer still, angling her body so she couldn’t see Matt then turned all of her attention on Damon. She dropped her voice down to a whisper and turned her biggest doe eyes on him, praying that for once he’d be easy to get along with. “Just leave him alone.”

“Aww, Care-bear.” Damon patted (more like slapped) Caroline on the cheek then drank his bourbon and set the empty glass on the bar. He gestured for Matt to refill his drink. “I think it’s adorable how much you like Mr. All-America.” He reached out and grabbed Caroline’s arm and pulled her against him. “Tell you what. I won’t touch your new boy here and you have to do whatever I tell you.”

She knew it was stupid. She knew that Damon lied. Caroline licked her lips and darted a glance at Matt. He looked so hurt and angry, glaring at them while he dried glasses before re-stocking them under the bar. “Promise you won’t hurt him. Ever.”

Damon emptied his glass and winked at Caroline. “Of course.” He set the glass on the bar and called Matt over. “Keep it full.” She knew it couldn’t be this easy. You (or at least _she_ ) didn’t get to just ask Damon Salvatore to do something and have it happen. He didn’t work like that. He did what he wanted and nothing else mattered. Matt brought the bottle over and Damon did that eye-thing. “Keep the glass full and enjoy the show.”

Caroline held perfectly still, refusing to flinch when Damon reached out and toyed with the buttons on her cardigan. “What kind of show do you think Matt would like? Hmm?” Caroline turned so her back was to the bar and there was no way she could see Matt. Knowing he was watching was one thing, watching him watch was something else entirely. Damon unbuttoned her yellow sweater and unhooked her belt. He was tracing the curve of her breast now and even though Caroline wanted to recoil at his touch, she didn’t (for Matt, this was for Matt’s safety), couldn’t. It felt way too good. (Why, why did Damon of all people in the world have to make her shiver?)

“Didn’t I tell you not to wear yellow again?” Damon pushed the sweater off of her shoulders down to crook of her elbows, effectively trapping her arms.

Caroline raised her chin and smiled sweetly. “I don’t do what you tell me to anymore, Damon.” She hissed out a breath when he reached under her skirt and tugged down her panties. The silky fabric skimmed down her legs and Caroline stepped out of them when they reached her feet.

Damon held the panties up and inspected them. “Vintage. Nice. Matching bra?” Damon tugged the neckline of her shell down until he could see that she was -- of course -- wearing the matching bra. She’d spent over two hundred dollars on the ensemble. Sheer red nylon panties edged with black lace at the leg and waist. The panties had the cutest little over-skirt with polka dots just above the lace trim. The bra wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the ones she normally wore, but it didn’t matter, she looked amazing and she knew it.

“You really should see her lingerie collection, it’s incredible.” Damon tossed her panties onto the bar and addressed Matt. “Go ahead, pick them up.” Caroline kept her eyes on Damon. “Smell them.” A spike of absolute hatred washed through Caroline as Damon caressed her bare thighs from the back of her knees to the juncture of her thighs. She couldn’t hold back her gasp when Damon dragged a finger through the dampness he found. Hatred segued to shame so quickly it nearly made Caroline’s head spin. She refused to be turned on by Damon humiliating her in front of Matt.

Damon slid a finger inside of her and pumped it in, out, in, out, then added two more fingers, shoving inside her. She came silently and immediately. Damon kept pumping his fingers, rubbing the pads of his fingers on the spot that made her knees tremble. Damn Damon and his psychotic need to take and take and _take_ all the happiness and hope from the people around him. She wanted this thing with Matt to work. She wanted to be happy with a nice boy who liked her and was nice to her.

Happy with anyone at all who wasn’t Damon. Caroline maintained her silence when Damon pulled his fingers from her body. They were wet and shiny with her come. He held them to his face and inhaled deeply. “She smells so good, Matt -- but she tastes even better. Want a taste?”

Caroline bowed her head and stared at her shoes. They were cute and just as vintage as her underwear. Black, peep-toed, and kitten heeled. If she concentrated on her shoes long enough this whole thing would be over and she could go home and pretend she’d never heard of Damon Salvatore.

“Watch, Caroline.” Caroline started to walk away but Damon clamped a hand down on her arm and forced her to turn and face him and Matt. “Taste her.” Damon held out his hand and Caroline watched as Matt sucked the tip of one of Damon’s fingers into his mouth. “Go ahead, clean it all up.” Matt opened his mouth wider and took in all three fingers down to the second knuckle. “She tastes great, doesn’t she?”

“Damon, stop -- you said you’d leave him alone.”

“Shut up, Caroline, and go away.” Damon slid his fingers out of Matt’s mouth and picked up his glass of bourbon. “Or I’ll bend you over the bar and fuck you in the ass while he watches.”

“Please, you said--” Caroline started to protest.

“Leave or get fucked.”

Caroline pulled the tattered shreds of her dignity around her and walked out of The Grill with only a couple backward glances at Matt.


	13. Chapter 13

Jenna gratefully handed the chef’s knife to Damon. She poured herself a glass of wine and admired his skill with the knife. As well as his ass, his shoulders, and that model-gorgeous face. The Salvatores were absolutely gorgeous, you’d have to be blind not to see it and Jenna was anything but blind. She sipped the wine occasionally and feigned shock and outrage at Damon’s more outlandish stories while he diced, minced, and chopped the garlic and other assorted items in a fraction of the time that she could have done it in. “You know when I do that, it takes an hour and everything looks mangled.” Jenna nodded toward the cutting board. “You wield that knife like a professional chef.”

Damon topped off Jenna’s wine glass and smiled. “Just something I picked up over the years.”

Jenna snorted into her wine glass. “You say that like you’re ancient.” She studied Damon’s face more closely. Piercing eyes, check. Faint, faint lines around the mouth, check. No obvious gray in the hair or other lines around the face. Cheekbones she’d kill to have? Check. “You can’t be over 23, we’re probably around the same age.”

“Something like that.” He smirked at her and Jenna laughed out loud when he somehow managed to make his eyes _twinkle_ at her. “A gentleman never tells and a lady never asks.”

“I thought it was the other way around?” Jenna leaned one hip against the counter and turned so she was facing Damon. “Ladies never tell, gentlemen never ask.”

“That was before the women’s liberation movement. Now that we’re freed from and unhindered by gender bias we can all--” Damon waved the knife in the air in an all-encompassing motion. “Be free to ask and tell or whatever.” He raked the contents of the cutting board into the saute pan already hot on the stove. “Unless you’re military, of course, but we’re not here for political conversation.”

Damon quieted as he stirred. Jenna found herself mesmerized by his hands and moved a little closer to him. He looked up at her and smiled then reached for his wine glass. “Thank you for inviting me to family night. Where are our charges?”

“Elena had something to do after school.” Jenna shrugged and sipped her wine. “Actually I’m glad they’re not here, it gives us a chance to get to know one another. And I’ve got to tell you -- I don’t approve that Elena spent the night at your house the other day.”

Damon sighed and sipped from his own glass. “I know what you mean, but what can you do? I figure it’s safer if I know where they are.” He topped off Jenna’s glass again. “Not to mention, Stefan clearly remembers when I was sneaking in girls beneath our father’s nose. He loves throwing the hypocrite card at me, so I try not to give him the opportunity.”

“It’s different for girls than it is boys.” Jenna raised an accusatory eyebrow at Damon. “I know from firsthand experience. I don’t want Elena to go through the same things I went through.”

“You’re right, and it’s not fair. Tell you what, let’s make a deal--” Damon held up his wine glass. “I faithfully promise you that I will safeguard Elena’s reputation as if it were my own.” He clinked his glass against Jenna’s and drank.

Jenna smiled a little and sipped from her glass. “At least I know Elena is responsible enough to be safe.”

“That’s why we make mistakes so they can learn from them.”

He smelled good. Damn good, and when he turned those ice blue eyes on her and held her gaze Jenna shivered a little and moved a bit closer. He was like gravity -- inexorably drawing her closer and closer to his orbit. “You’re right, of course. I just wish it didn’t give them so much ammunition for later on.”

Damon poured the contents of the saute pan into the pot of simmering tomato sauce and tasted it. “I think it needs a touch of garlic, what do you think?” He held the spoon out for Jenna, “Careful, it’s hot.”

Jenna blew on the spoon before tasting. “Mmm. Damon, I think it’s perfect.” She looked up at him through her eyelashes; he was so close she could smell his cologne. Woodsy, earthy, with a touch of spice, she licked her lips and forced herself not to lean against him and smell the hollow of his throat.

“We’ll let it simmer a while longer and taste it again.” Damon put the lid on the sauce and closed the rest of the distance between them. “Any ideas on what we can do until then?” He toyed with the belt loops on her jeans and Jenna quit resisting the urge to touch him.

She glided her fingers down the silk of his shirt sleeve and tilted her face up. Jeremy shouted from the other room and the noise from his game increased. Elena wasn’t home yet. She was an adult in her own home spending time with a gorgeous man. She could kiss him if she wanted to, and she wanted to. She did. She really did. She wanted to kiss Damon as much as she’d wanted to kiss Alaric the other night. Just because she had a date with Alaric on Friday didn’t mean she couldn’t kiss someone else. A date was a date, not a relationship. “I may have an idea or two.”

Jenna stood on her tip toes and leaned toward Damon. She could feel his breath ghosting against her lips, she met his gaze and smiled at the teasing expression on his face. “Tease,” she accused as she wrapped one arm around his shoulders and pressed herself against his body. He felt amazing against her -- sleek and firm, just the right height with the bad boy vibe that made her crazy.

“Uh-huh.” His hands slipped from her belt loops to her ass, cupping it and pulling her against him so tightly she could feel his erection. “You love it.” He trailed his mouth from hers to the shell of her ear. “Don’t you?”

Jenna tilted her head to the side to give Damon better access to her neck. “Mmm-hmm.” He kissed the pulse point on her throat and she felt butterflies dance in her stomach. He pressed her against the stove; the oven handle dug into her ass, but she didn’t care because he was finally, _finally_ kissing her.

Jenna’s eyes closed and her lips parted slightly. He kissed her gently at first, rubbing their lips together, before nipping first the bottom then her top lip. Jenna tried to deepen the kiss but he refused to let her, keeping everything soft and gentle. He kissed her like he cherished her, like he wanted to protect her from the world, as if she were the most delicate, fragile, and exquisite thing in the world. Her breath hitched and her knees weakened.

“Jenna! I’m home,” Elena called out.

Damon pulled out of the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers. “Later?”

She couldn’t speak just yet so she nodded and stepped out of Damon’s personal space. She turned to smile at Elena as she walked into the kitchen and promised herself she and Damon would pick this up again. One day when the kids weren’t around.


	14. Chapter 14

Stefan finds Damon at home in his favorite leather armchair by the fireplace. The boarding house is dark except for the roaring fire. In the dancing light of the flames Stefan spots three crystal decanters tipped over on the floor within arms reach of Damon. Another bottle open, but mostly full, rests between the juncture of his thighs. Damon appears to be relaxed and sprawling -- legs splayed wide, spine curved just so in the chair -- but Stefan knows better. He can see the tension in the hands, shoulders, and jaw.

He hasn’t seen Damon this wrecked since the night it all began. He hopes he never will again.

He wants to comfort his brother; squeeze his shoulder and tell him that everything will be all right. It won’t be, of course -- how could it -- but that doesn’t change the fact Stefan _wants_ Damon to find solace with him.

“Come to gloat?” The tone is so bitter he almost expects Damon’s mouth to pucker. “Want to rub it in? How I’ve wasted a century and a half trying to free the love of my life from a fate worse than death only to find out she’s been--” Damon’s voice cracks and then breaks. He brings the bottle of Scotch to his mouth and drinks deep. Stefan watches as a drop of the liquor slides from Damon’s mouth to his chin. He moves further into the room, close enough that if Damon wanted, if he would _allow_ it, Stefan could touch him.

“No.” He says it as softly and with as little inflection as he can. He squats down, resting on his heels so that he can be eye level with his brother.

Damon huffs out a breath and blows his bangs out of his eyes. He stares at Stefan and Stefan stares right back. Stefan holds Damon’s gaze and waits for him to make the next move. The ticking of the grandmother clock in the corner and the snap, crackle, pop of the fire are the only sounds, it gives this moment an eerie and nearly timeless feel. For a moment time bends and Stefan is reliving the night Damon told him he’d joined the Confederacy. Damon had been just as drunk and worse, he’d been exactly this betrayed. Only this time it was Katherine and not their father who’d ripped out Damon’s heart.

Stefan’s patience is rewarded when Damon offers him the decanter. He takes it from Damon’s hand and drinks deeply from the bottle. Half of it is gone when he carefully places the antique crystal on the floor between Damon and himself. Damon reaches for the bottle. His fingers slide down the surface before he manages to get a grip on it. He drinks from it, then clutches the bottle with both hands, holding it against his chest. Not unlike a child with a favorite toy.

The fire pops loudly and a log rolls, sending up a flare of sparks that Stefan can see reflected in Damon’s eyes. He’s never seen anyone this desolated before. Has no idea how to comfort the brother who claims to hate him. Whom he claims to hate (a lie, a 145-year habitual lie). He moves cautiously toward his brother, as if any sudden move will startle him into fleeing, or worse, a killing spree. Stefan moves as slowly as possible, making sure to telegraph his every move even though Damon’s attention appears to be solely on the fire. Stefan winds up on the floor next to Damon’s feet, with his back resting against the chair.

Stefan reaches for the decanter once again. He holds it up to the light of the fire and admires the glow of the Scotch through the finely cut crystal. “ _Scotch is for squares_.” He speaks the words out loud but he hears a ghost of Lexie’s voice echo in his head. Prohibition. Stefan had never been able to remember what liquor went in which type of decanter. Damon had proclaimed it didn’t matter when most of what they had was bathtub gin in the first place, but Lexie had always insisted on propriety back then.

Lexie. Stefan drinks then, empties the bottle. He wants to destroy it, smash it against the fireplace and watch the crystal shards scatter across the room. But he doesn’t. Stefan has rarely done the things he _wants_ to do, has instead always done what he should. Case in point, it should be Damon apologizing to him for killing his best friend, for ending one of the best people Stefan has ever known. That is not how this is going to go.

He leans against Damon’s leg, resting his temple against his brother’s knee. “I’m sorry.” Barely any sound comes out; it is more of a breath than spoken words, but Damon hears.

Stefan closes his eyes when Damon’s hand rests on the back of neck. “Me too.” Damon squeezes gently with one hand and reaches for another decanter (round and filled with something clear) he pulls the stopper out and the scent of juniper is overwhelming.

Sharp, crisp, a bit pungent, and edged with pine.


	15. Chapter 15

1.15 A Few Good Men

“I can’t rig the contest, Damon” Carol pitches her voice low enough to not be overheard.

“I don’t know why not.” Damon drops his voice into an exaggerated whisper and winks.

Carol looks at him through her lashes as she sips her martini. She traces the rim of her lips with her tongue and coyly smiles before she whispers back. “I’m a married woman.”

Beneath the privacy of the bar Damon glides his fingertips over Carol’s stockinged calf. He slows down when he reaches the pulse point behind her knee and circles it with his thumb. Her pulse skips a beat then picks up speed as she uncrosses her legs giving him easier access. Damon leaves his hand where it is and raises a challenging eyebrow. “So?”

“I’m married to the mayor.” She nearly growls the words at him. Her words and fiercely scowling expression say one thing but her body tells another story entirely. She’s angled so that she’s facing him; turning her back to the rest of the room. “I can’t do something so obvious as bidding on a bachelor auction when I’m already married.”

Damon’s hand slides further up her leg. He’s tracing her femoral with two fingers and Carol spreads her legs a little bit more. “Sure you can, you can do anything you want Carol.” Her legs part a bit further and Damon glides his middle finger along the damp crotch of her panties. He smiles at her and takes her drink out of her hand. He brings the wide rim of the martini glass to his lips and touches his tongue to the edge of the glass. Carol sucks in a breath and Damon dips his tongue into the drink.

Damon rubs her clit through her panties. “You fucking tease.” She hisses on the _s_ but cants her hips forward making Damon’s finger slide back toward her aching cunt.

“Rig the auction.” He presses inside her just a bit, enough for her to soak through the silk of her panties and wet his finger. He brings the finger to his mouth and sucks it like a lollypop. He can’t compel her because of the vervain, but he doesn’t need to. Carol grabs the glass out of his hand and finishes her martini in one gulp then turns away so that he can no longer reach her.

“I have work to do. I’ll talk to you” -- she stands and heads toward the stage -- “later.”


	16. Chapter 16

Jenna stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her face was flushed from too much booze and her eyes looked wild--glassy, red rimmed, pupils far wider than they should have been. Jenna turned the faucet on and splashed some cold water on her face hoping it would tone down the blotchiness spreading across her face and down her neck.

It didn’t.

Now, she looked trashed _and_ her mascara was streaking down her face along with the remnants of her foundation. “Damn it.” Jenna muttered and jerked a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and began patting her face dry.

“So, Jenna.” Kelly’s voice echoed a tad and sounded far away as though they were in one of the area’s many caverns and not the bathroom at The Grill. That’s why when Kelly said, “You, me, Damon. That could be fun,” Jenna did not immediately grasp her meaning.

“What?” Her voice sounded shrill to her own ears. Jenna shook her head to try to clear it while she dug through her purse for her make-up bag. The toilet flushed and Kelly stepped out of the stall. Drunk as Kelly was, she was still gorgeous and looked perfectly put together. Unlike Jenna, who looked exactly as smashed as she felt. Jenna mentally shrugged to herself and refused to let it get her down while she started the process of fixing her face. Therapy and five years of studying psychology meant Jenna had long ago accepted that being the one who wasn’t perfectly put together all the time was part of who she was. She embraced it. She really did.

“I said, you, me, Damon; that could be fun.” Kelly stood behind Jenna and ran her fingers through Jenna’s hair; lifting it off the back of her neck and fluffing it back into place. Jenna felt herself shiver a bit as the cool air kissed her sweaty skin, and she forced herself to laugh.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Kel.”

“I don’t know why not, it’s not like we’ve never done it before. God we used to have so much fun.”

“It’s not that--”

“You want him all to yourself then.” Kelly interrupted.

“There’s more than enough of me to go around.” Jenna jumped at the sound of Damon’s voice and dropped her make-up bag; the contents scattered noisily into the damp sink. Jenna cussed under her breath and fumbled while she tried to get everything back in the bag as quickly as she could.

“Come on live a little Jenna.” Kelly was in her personal space pressing those gorgeous breasts against Jenna’s arm.

Jenna closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Come on, Jenna.” She opened her eyes at the sound of Damon’s voice and turned to look at him. She’d enjoyed his company so much the other night. He’d been fun and charming and most importantly _adult_. This didn’t feel fun or adult. It felt like a drunken mistake that Jenna was going to prevent if it killed her. She looked him in the eyes and started to politely refuse when he looked at her with a weirdly intense gaze and said, “It’ll be fun. You know you want to.”

The heat of both their bodies pressed against Jenna; Kelly toyed with her hair and Damon kept giving her meaningful looks that were kind of freaking her out. Jenna looked at their reflection in the mirror and all she could see was waking up hungover and miserable and hating herself for giving in to something she didn’t really even want to do. She straightened her spine and gave them both very genuine smiles. She grabbed her purse and make-up bag and headed toward the door.

“No thanks guys, but you two should totally hook up. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.” They were already on each other before she was even out the door. She saw Alaric across the room and he smiled at her.

She smiled back and knew she’d made the right choice.


	17. Chapter 17

Skin to Skin 17 - Let the Right One In

“That was fun ... Oh, don't look at me like that. I know you hate me. Guess what -- everyone hates me, but you can't deny we were bad-ass." Alaric slams his drink, stands casually, and punches Damon in the mouth before shoving his hands in his pockets and calmly walking out of The Grill.

Damon straightens himself up and wipes his mouth. "Happens," Damon says shrugging it off to anyone who may have been paying attention -- it’s not like it actually _hurt _\-- then drains his own glass. The ice cubes rattle when he sets the glass down with more force than he intended. “Add it to my tab,” Damon says to the bartender (another new bartender, they go through them so quickly) and follows Alaric out the door.__

He stands on the sidewalk for a brief second looking first right and then left. Alaric didn’t go either way. Damon walks toward the street and sees a flash of dirty blond hair under a streetlight in the park. He smirks to himself and follows. Alaric cuts through the center of the park where there are fewer lights. “That ring makes you stupid,” Damon mutters under his breath and crosses the street.

Stalking an unkillable human through Mystic Falls sounds like the most fun he’s had in ages. It’s been a while since he used his skills -- he doesn’t want them to go rusty -- so he focuses all of his attention outward. It’s slow at first, but after the first bit of mist forms it gets easier. It spreads out in front of him, creeping along the ground until it reaches and outstrips his prey. Damon closes his eyes and reaches out with his mind, scanning the area until he finds a crow. He’s tried this trick with all sorts of animals and has had some small success with different ones, but his true affinity lies with birds, particularly those of the corvidae family.

A more scholarly vampire (Stefan) would be interested in the whys and other specifics but Damon has only ever cared that he could. He brings the crow under his influence. Strokes its mind a bit and tells it to caw, loudly, very loudly, and follow Alaric. At the first sound, Alaric startles and looks around. Damon allows the mist to float up, lifting off of the ground to swirl around Alaric’s ankles then higher to his knees.

The crow swoops down and Alaric ducks at the last second; the crow’s talons rake through his hair but don’t grab any. Alaric reaches into an inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a stake. He looks around as the mist reaches waist height and continues on his way. Only this time, he’s jogging. The mist is thick now, thick enough you could hardly see your hand in front of your face, unless you’re Damon that is. He can see through it perfectly. Watches with hungry eyes as Alaric stumbles on a curb and falls. He catches himself with his hands before he can scrape his knees. He must have cut his hands somehow because Damon can smell fresh blood.

The crow caws again, continuously circling Alaric, swooping toward him then away. The mist rises higher, nearly as high as the trees, and Damon feels better, stronger, and more powerful than he has in weeks. He unleashes the power of his mind, rousing all of the birds within his range, waking them up, making them sing, call, and twitter. A few of them leave their nests and fly towards Alaric. Damon hears his heart rate jump and watches with satisfaction as Alaric swallows hard, assessing the situation, then takes off running. Adrenaline floods through Alaric’s body and Damon can taste it on the mist. He gives him a generous head start, letting him get nearly to the door of his house before Damon starts chasing after him.

He’s caught him in a second, forced him down onto the ground. His fangs have dropped and he’s going in for the bite when he feels wood pressed against his ribs. Alaric presses the stake harder and Damon feels it penetrate his skin. He releases his grip on Alaric, lets his fangs recede, and laughs. He stands up, pulls Alaric roughly to his feet and brushes him off.

“What did I tell you? We’re both bad-ass.” Alaric looks at him like he’s crazy. “Ric, I can call you Ric can’t I? We should team up, between my mist and birds and all your crazy weapons we could get rid of the tomb vamps easy. We should have a name though. How about … Team Bad Ass?”


	18. Chapter 18

“Does it feel good?” Damon is in Stefan’s room rifling through his closet when his brother finally comes home.

Stefan huffs out a frustrated breath and moves to stand between Damon and his closet. “Don’t you have your own room with your own closet and, more importantly, your very own clothing somewhere in this house?”

Damon smirks at Stefan and steps away from the closet allowing Stefan to close it. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t answer mine.”

“I’m still trying to find something to replace the John Varvatos shirt you ruined.” Damon strolls toward the bed and lies down, tucking his hands behind his head. He plops his feet on the bed obviously uncaring that his boots leave traces of dirt on the comforter.

“If I buy you another one will leave my stuff alone?”

“No.”

“Of course you won’t.” Stefan sighs and leans back against the closet door.

“You still haven’t answered _my_ question.”

“What question was that?”

“Does it feel good?” Stefan keeps his expression blank and doesn’t answer. “You know, drinking all day, tasting snatches of blood here and there, stealing the occasional blood bag from my stash, and licking out all my dirty glasses. Does it make you feel better than when you were on your squirrel diet? Did you enjoy hurting that guy and then compelling him to say he was clumsy? Did it make you feel powerful?”

Stefan turns away from Damon and heads toward the door. Damon blurs past him and blocks his path. “Answer me.” Stefan tries to push past Damon, but Damon grabs Stefan by the arms and shakes him. “I said answer me.”

Stefan wrenches out of Damon’s grip and glares. “I thought this was what you wanted? Haven’t you spent the last half-century begging me to let loose and be more like you? To quit fighting my nature?”

“That was before, this is now.”

“You sound like a toddler.”

“You would know. Do you enjoy making Elena worry? Raising the suspicions of the Council? You know the risks, Stefan; you’re barely in control, what are you doing?”

Stefan steps inside of Damon’s personal space and then closer still when Damon doesn’t back away. He leans infinitesimally closer to Damon closing the distance between them until they’re touching at the knees and chest. “I’m giving you what you’ve been asking me for -- your brother back, just how you like him. Wild and free and strong.” Stefan allows his eyes to darken and his fangs to drop, then runs his tongue along the razor-sharp edge until he draws blood. He grabs Damon by the hair and drags their mouths together, forcing his tongue into Damon’s mouth.

He isn’t surprised when Damon kisses him back, drawing even more blood. Stefan lets Damon push him across the room toward the bed. Stefan falls down onto the unmade bed without even a push when he feels the edge of it hit the back of his legs. He looks up at Damon, prepared to see lust and hunger in his eyes. He’s surprised that it isn’t there. Damon’s expression is one of furrowed brow and downturned lips, a cross somewhere between disappointment and pity.

“What I wanted was for you to accept yourself, but you’ve never understood that.” Damon turns away and crosses the room. When he reaches the door he turns around and looks at his brother. “Get a grip on yourself, Stefan, you’re out of control.”

Stefan stares at his brother’s back until he’s out of the room with the door closed firmly behind him. He picks up the first thing that comes into his hand -- the antique lamp on his bedside table -- and throws it at the door.

The sound of the lamp shattering isn’t nearly as satisfying as he thought it would be.


	19. Chapter 19

“How long are you going to sit down here in the dark?”

Elena closed her eyes and leaned her head against the stairwell wall. “As long as it takes.”

“There are better uses of your time you know. Shouldn’t you be catching up on your homework?”

“Really, Damon? We’ve got Stefan locked in a cell and you want to do this? Now?”

“Someone’s got to do this. You can’t sit in a cold, dark cellar until he comes out Elena. It could take days, probably weeks. Maybe longer, who knows?” Elena closed her eyes as Damon crouched down so that their eyes were level. “You need to be out there, living your life, going to school, having pillow fights with your girlfriends. Actually, let me know when you have your next pillow fight scheduled -- I’d like to watch. Caroline has incredible lingerie and I bet that witch is no slouch either.”

Elena was exhausted mentally and physically. There was no way she could deal with Damon’s … _Damon-ness_ right now. “Go away.” She felt a whoosh of air across her skin and opened her eyes. Damon was gone. She shook her head and stood up. She winced as she pulled herself to her feet; her body ached from being in the same position for so long. She crossed the basement and looked in on Stefan through the barred window. He was still out or pretending to be out; it was hard to tell from where she stood. She heard a noise at the top of the stairs and turned to face Damon and force him back upstairs and hopefully out of the house.

“Damon, just go--”

“Shut up, Elena, and get out of the way -- this is awkward to carry,” Damon said. Elena obligingly stepped aside and Damon carefully put down the load he was carrying. “If you’re going to be an idiot and stay down here, you’re going to need some things.” He turned on a small lantern and set it down on the floor. Then he unfolded a blanket and fluffed the pillows on the old armchair he’d carried downstairs. A shrill whistle pierced the silence. Damon gestured Elena toward the chair and she sat down. “I’ll be right back.”

In a flash he was gone and back again before she had time to do more than get comfortable in the chair. This time he carried a tea service and a small table. He put the tea service on the table and poured Elena a cup. “Sugar?”

Elena nodded and couldn’t help but smile a little when he handed her the cup. She wrapped her hands around it, and felt a tiny bit of tension ease out of her body as the warmth knocked the chill off of her hands. She sipped the tea and Damon draped the blanket he’d brought around her legs, tucking her in.

“Damon--”

“Don’t.” He cupped Elena’s chin for a second and went to sit on the stairs. “He’s my brother.” He pulled a flask out of his jacket pocket and drank. She stared at him across the basement and Damon stared unflinchingly back.


	20. Chapter 20

"You brood too much, Stefan. Everything on this planet is not your fault. My actions -- what I do -- it's not your fault. I own them. They belong to me. You are not allowed to feel my guilt."

“So you feel guilt?”

"If I wanted to. It's there. Emily waited until after I turned to tell me she'd been successful in protecting Katherine with her spell. She didn't want me to know about the tomb. She thought it would impact my decision. Witches. Judgy little things."

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to know.” Damon pauses and smiles beatifically at his brother. "'Cause I hated you, and I still do."

Stefan nods. "I know."

“No.” Damon closes the distance between them, presses his body flush against Stefan’s, lets the heat of his body leach into Stefan still cold from malnourishment and being outside. “You don’t.” Damon places a hand on either side of Stefan’s face, cupping his jaw with his thumbs, letting his fingers slide around the back of Stefan’s head and tangle in his hair. Damon rests his forehead against Stefan’s for a brief moment before he begins to squeeze. “You never did.” He digs fingers into Stefan’s temple and squeezes harder. “You never knew that I ran interference between you and our loving father. You never knew the times I deflected his temper from you to me. You never knew he didn’t use a whipping boy, it was always me who took the lash. You never knew I joined the Army to save you from the draft. You never knew that I sacrificed pieces of myself along the way to keep you safe, to ensure your happiness, to make sure you never knew just how much our father didn’t care about either of us.”

Damon kisses Stefan on the forehead and relaxes his grip, allowing his fingers to play in the waves of Stefan’s hair. “You never knew that I sacrificed everything for you. And then after all of that you went ahead and took the only the thing I ever wanted.” Damon bows his head and cruelly kisses Stefan on the mouth. “And then you made me into this, after we both agreed to go ahead and die.” His fangs pierce Stefan’s lips. He sucks and licks at the blood that wells up before the wounds heal.

“You’re such a liar.” Stefan shoves Damon off of him and wipes off his mouth. “Everything you have ever said about our life back then is complete and utter bullshit.”

“Is it?”

Damon is gone before the last syllable of his question, leaving behind a rattled Stefan. He shakes his head to clear it and wanders into the library. He searches the shelves until he finds what he’s looking for -- Damon’s childhood journals. Stefan traces the faded gilt lettering on the old familiar leather. He lets the journal fall open and begins to read words he has almost committed to memory. Stories as familiar to him as the back of his own hand. “Yes, Damon. Complete and utter bullshit. You are the king of revisionist history.”


	21. Chapter 21

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Alaric regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. He’d known better than to make small talk with Damon since the moment he met him.

“I’m sure Isobel is all ‘My darling girl, I can’t believe I let you go. Please come closer so I can drink your blood.’” Damon rolled his eyes and stared at Alaric. “And then Elena says, ‘No! You can’t drink my blood, but I’d like to get to know you, you’re my mother after all.’”

Alaric leaned back against Damon’s car and kept his eyes on The Grill. “Forget I said anything.”

“Generally speaking, I can’t even remember you exist much less your inane excuse for banter.”

The absurdity of the statement forced a chuckle from Alaric. “You are so full of shit.” Damon huffed out a noncommittal sound. “Seriously, you’re always, ‘Let’s go kill something, teacher!’ You can’t keep your hands off my weapons, you stalk me through town at any given opportunity, and now that my not exactly dead vampire wife is in town you’re shadowing every step I make.”

Damon kept his eyes on the entrance to The Grill and didn’t speak.

“I think you like me.” Alaric didn’t bother to hide the dopey grin on his face. “I think you want to be” -- he nudged Damon with his elbow and clasped both hands together in front of his heart -- “friends.”

Damon nudged him back none too gently. “I don’t have friends.”

“You are the biggest liar I have ever met. And that counts student excuses for not turning in their homework.”

The door to The Grill opened and Isobel stepped out onto the sidewalk. She looked right at them and then blurred away.

“Come on.” Damon tugged at Alaric’s jacket sleeve. “Let’s go see what she wanted. And when that pleasant conversation is over I’ll get you drunk.”

Alaric kept his eyes trained in the direction Isobel had disappeared to until Damon grabbed him by the wrist and forced him to move.


	22. Chapter 22

Skin to Skin 22 Founder’s Day

Damon backs off of Elena’s porch and heads down the street trying to place the emotions he’s feeling. Elation because Elena kissed him is easy enough to identify and it feels so good it almost, _almost_ washes out the other emotions coursing through him.

The confrontation with Jeremy is making him feel regret. He’s not unfamiliar with it in the sense that there are people and things that he has wanted to do and didn’t, but in this sense? Regret for taking Jeremy’s memories but not taking away the pain? It’s more painful than he ever imagined regret could be. It’s a little gnawing hole in the pit of his gut making him wonder about all the people he’s compelled through the years. Was it only superficial and nothing deeper? For everyone? Did they all have the sense that they had lost something important and mourned it like Jeremy?

It puts everything he’s done through the years into a light he’s not yet ready to face. Why dwell on the past when there’s so much in the present he’s got to make right? He has to start over with Stefan, there’s no way around that. But how? How can he start over with Stefan when they’re right back at the place they were when it all began? They’re both in love with the same woman and tonight, Elena crossed a line. Well, he crossed it first but she followed him over it. It was a line he never thought she’d cross, and that sends him into a spiral of emotions that threaten to overwhelm him. He needs time. Time to sort through the events of tonight and the past few months.

Most importantly he has to find a way to deal with this … shame he’s feeling. He, Damon Salvatore, is feeling shame. Not because he kissed his brother’s girlfriend, not even because she kissed him back and obviously liked it. No, it was because of Jenna. The look on her face when she interrupted them made his guts churn. He wanted to shield Elena from that look of disapproval and apologize to Jenna for what had transpired between them.

Damon doesn’t light the fire when he reaches the boarding house; he’s had enough fire to last him the rest of his life tonight. He pours a hefty glass of scotch and sits in his favorite chair in front of the fireplace and tries to answer the question burning inside of him.

Where do I go from here?

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This fic has been remarkable for *me* for a few reasons:
> 
> 1) I have this near-inability to write in the past tense. I never really noticed it until someone on my flist [I believe it was blamebrampton but I will not swear to that] posted a poll inquiring about how people felt about reading fic in the present tense. I was surprised at how many people out there said they found present tense to not be as enjoyable, or suspect, etc. I took that as a personal challenge to write more in the past tense. I completely and utterly failed with my Big Bang. 1864 fic in the present tense is not as ridiculous as it sounds, I SWEAR. As usual when this started I could NOT get anything to happen in the past tense so I gave up. And then I switched from Damon's POV to a human POV and *that* chapter flowed in past tense like it was something I always write.
> 
> I made a conscientious decision at that point to write all vampire POVs in the present tense and all human POVs in the past tense. I think it gives the vampires a sense of permanence because everything is happening now, even flashbacks are happening now. I think it adds weight to the human POVs as well. It made want to shake me for a minute until she asked me if I was doing it intentionally, once she realized I was I'm pretty sure she rolled her eyes and shook her head. 
> 
> 2) I haven't completed a multi-chapter fic this long in my life. The last time I came close, it was back when I eating, breathing, and sleeping Queer as Folk -- but that fic only had about 8 parts. I guess that means Damon Salvatore = Brian Kinney? IDEK
> 
> 3) I've never followed an entire season episode by episode. Most of the fic I write happens in the "now" as the show is airing or while I'm digesting it. I never imagined when I started this that we'd be halfway through season 2 before I finished.
> 
> 4) Season 1 Damon was hands down my favorite character in a show *filled* to bursting with characters I loved. Season 2? Caroline has become my favorite character, I wasn't sure I'd be able to finish this fic with my attention drawn so hard to Caroline [and Tyler because their stories have been so intermeshed] so if you're wondering why it's so Caroline heavy in places when I could have explored what Damon was doing with other people, it's because I am obsessed with Vampire Barbie.
> 
> 5) It was important to me that I show how Damon changed and grew as a vampire from the pilot to the finale and going back and reading just these two parts, I started in the right place and I ended in the right place -- I'm hoping that all the steps in between work as well.
> 
> 6) Some people have asked if there will be a sequel. I found that hysterical! It was so amazing that people thought I would *finish* this much less write another part. At this point I'm not planning on it. However, provided my favorite vampire is still dead and kicking it at the end of season two [SPOIL ME AND YOU DIE] there will most likely be a Caroline-centric version.


End file.
